


Rabbit's Foot and Dragon's Tail

by orphan_account



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Author knows nothing about GoT or medieval things, Competition, Folklore, M/M, Minor Violence, Negotiations, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, and has only done research through the wikis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oh sure, Nero knew that he’d be married off to someone else. He was the youngest family member—adopted, no less—so it was bound to happen, even if he’d sooner lop his own head off then be married to some other snobbish Fortuna noble.He did not expect (or want) to be married to Dante, the Dragon Lord and leader of the Redgrave Horde.
Relationships: Dante/Nero (Devil May Cry), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 17
Kudos: 160
Collections: DaNero Week 2020





	1. Winner, Winner...

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompts: Beginning, Strength, and Family (this could also be Alternate Universe but I fucking refuse to put ‘Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones’ as one of my tags)
> 
> I know literally nothing about Game of Thrones, so if anything here doesn’t line up, that’s the reason why. I’m literally only going by wiki articles and what my fellow server friends have stated, so a majority of the noble/house structure is 100% bullshit, as is anything and everything else going forward.

Nero didn’t want a fairytale marriage.

Actually, scratch that. He didn’t want to get married, _period._ Marriage meant getting tied down to someone, having to produce an heir, getting involved in the inter-nobility politics… all messy things that he’d rather _not_ have to do. 

The best years of his life were when he was living on the streets, living day to day with no expectations weighing on his shoulders, just trying to get enough food and not get grabbed by guards. It was dangerous, and he had too many close-calls to count, but he had fun. There was a certain camaraderie with the other street kids and homeless, one that Nero had gone to painful lengths to preserve when he was adopted.

And oh yes, that _adoption._ He was taken in by House Sanctus, which was notorious for its religious leaders, all of them with heads covered in fiery-red hair. It made Nero, with his white hair and pale skin, stand out like a sore thumb when he was adopted seven years ago, shown off to the crowds like a trophy. He had a very distinct memory of seeing the entire city forced to see him stand on the edge of a balcony with a fake smile and thinking, _maybe I should just jump and try to run for it._

Looking back, the thought was dark, but it wasn't like he had much of a say in things. One second he’d been running with a stolen loaf in his hands, the next, he was plucked up off the street by the guards and brought to the royal family. Nicaea and Tract, the current King and Queen, gave him an ultimatum—either he would be their newest, youngest child, or he would be locked in prison for a few months and then hung for stealing.

It would be stupid of him _not_ to take the deal, but he felt… slimy. He was a prisoner in fancy clothing that he didn't even like. The quiet castle was too sudden a change from the hustle and bustle of Fortuna’s streets, and he’d sneak out frequently, only to come back to keep the city's guards from hunting him and the other street kids down. Most of the time, when he returned to the streets, he exchanged the little baubles his new ‘family’ had decorated him with for food to give to the other street kids. 

He never felt guilty when doing so but, looking back, it might have just been a way for him to cling onto his old life. Which he did to… some extent. Most of the street kids hated his new-found wealth, and believed he was just taking pity on them. However, some appreciated his generosity, and could see that he hated his new life, and that he’d gladly trade with someone else.

However, none of them could turn down a free, well-made meal, so he had a decently large population of the city who begrudgingly liked him.

Nicaea and Tract never fully diverged _why_ they adopted him, but Nero had some theories. It was tradition among Fortunan nobility to marry off the youngest offspring to have peaceful relationships with rival families, while the eldest was trained to be the heir for the family’s territory. With only two children, Credo (the eldest) and Kyrie (the youngest, before Nero came into the picture), it made sense for House Sanctus to… expand their influence and lessen their enemies. Nero just so happened to be in the right place, the right time, and the right age for them to take under their wing, groom into a fine noble boy, and marry off once he became of age.

Of course, he wasn’t an idiot. He figured it out pretty fucking quick when his manners training started talking about how he was supposed to “behave around his ‘beloved’” and “how to properly court someone.” Despite the numerous rumors on the street saying that House Sanctus was filled with assassins and backstabbers, and that they spy on the other Houses and Kingdoms daily, they sure as shit weren’t subtle when it came to marriage.

So, Nero embraced his shiny title of ‘youngest sibling’ and utilized it to the fullest extent. He purposefully failed the classes about courtship and marriage, anyone trying to court him was either strongly rebutted or punched. He turned a blind eye and ear to Nicaea and Tract’s increasingly more aggressive methods of finding him a wife or husband.

He ignored all of them and, eventually, he was brought to the courtroom to talk about marriage and courtship outright. At first, he went for the tried and true method of just saying “no,” then piling on a million other reasonable excuses, like “he wasn’t ready” and “this is stupid” and “I’m not even your kid by blood, wouldn’t that make things worse?”

And, of course, they weren’t listening. Apparently, they had an entire _list_ of families with eligible suitors and, if they couldn’t marry Nero, then they’d kick him off the streets and move on to Kyrie.

He wouldn’t lie, the prospect of living on the streets again and having some freedom was incredibly tempting. However, the only one who was _less_ prepared for marriage was Kyrie, and Nero wasn’t about to put all the shit he’d been dealing with on her back. He might hate the noble life, but he didn’t hate his ‘siblings.’ Had fate been kinder and made their paths cross outside of his adoption, Nero could easily see the three of them being close friends.

Of course, fate wasn’t kind. Fate was forcing him into a marriage with no way out without offing himself, and Nero wasn’t _that_ desperate.

After an _hour_ of trying to debate his way out of it, he sighed forlornly, making it out like they’d finally worn him down enough to agree. He said he’d do it, be courted and married off…

If they did it his way.

Frankly, he was banking on Nicaea and Tract’s complete ignorance of how the world outside the castle walls worked, specifically how street life worked outside of stealing. He bluffed and made up a bunch of bullshit about how marriage was done through ‘combat’ and all the suitors would fight, and the last one standing was the one he’d marry. He figured that, if they were really so stupid as to go through with it, more than half the suitors’ families would pull out because trial by combat seemed like the opposite of what they’d enjoy.

And yet, here he was two months later, sitting in a chair, under a tarp, dressed up in the finest robes and jewelry the family had on hand, watching as various men and women suited up and got ready to fight for his hand in marriage.

Honestly, dealing with courtship and punching people seemed trivial now. He didn’t expect Nicaea and Tract to go through with this, let alone have so many people agree to fighting in the middle of an abandoned field. He knew, deep down, that they were likely only doing this because their parents insisted, and they were more enamored with his looks than _him,_ but still. It looked like there were… twenty-or-so teenagers suiting up.

Well, at the very least, his final day of semi-freedom would be entertaining.

Tract let out a long, tired sigh (which Nero had learned was noble language for ‘I’m too old for this shit’) and gave him a malicious smile, fully aware this was just as painful and idiotic for Nero as it was for him. He leaned closer so that he could be heard over the growing buzz surrounding them. “What do you think? Any suitors you’re hoping will win?”

Nero gave him a side-eye and went back to staring blankly at the gathering crowd. Some of them were from the blueblood families wanting to see whose child would be getting married, but a majority were random townsfolk who wanted to watch what was essentially a glorified bar fight. Nero could recognize a few of the people in the crowd from sneaking out into the streets. A few gave him pitying looks, others laughed.

He couldn’t blame them. If he were in their shoes, he’d be laughing, too.

“Can you tell them that you’ve changed your mind?” Kyrie, who had gotten up to grab some drinks for them, whispered as she passed Nero his cup.

“At this point, if I say anything against them, they’ll say whoever wins gets to marry _you.”_ He whispered back.

“I’m not a maiden in need of defending, Nero.” Kyrie teased.

“I know," He wasn't lying—Kyrie knew where all the vital arteries of the human body were and painted her nails with a potent poison daily. "but I doubt you’d want any of these idiots to literally fight over you.” He gestured at a group of guys with his cup. They were all dressed in heavy, iron-plated armor, and one of the pour souls was knocked off his feet, flailing on his back like a turtle as he struggled to stand. “When you’re up for the slaughter, you can deal with a typical courtship instead of delaying bullshit, like I tried.”

Kyrie snorted, but quickly composed herself when Credo looked over at them. His seat was on Nicaea’s right, Kyrie’s on Tract’s left, while Nero was shoved between both of the older royals, his chair the furthest forward. He was the literally the centerpiece

Clearing his throat, Tract stood, holding his hand up. The crowd slowly hushed, until there was only a slight murmur and the occasional cough. “Thank you all for arriving! Today, twenty-three suitors will fight for my son’s hand in marriage. While weapons are allowed, this is not a fight to the death, and suitors may back out at any time. Any deaths will be punished accordingly. The victor will be the last man standing.”

The crowd let out an assenting murmur with some various boos thrown throughout, and Nero rolled his eyes. The ‘no killing’ was just a fancy way for Tract to roll blame onto a different noble family if someone was killed. Frankly, Nero wouldn’t mind a few nobles to lose their head, but he was hardly in a position to object.

“Before we begin, would anyone like to back out?”

“How about a last minute addition?” 

The crowd jumped at the loud shout, then immediately quieted, parting to reveal two people. They both had weapons, a bow for the one on the left and an impressive looking sword for the one on the right, and were dressed with large, thick pelts with bones sewn in as decoration. 

While the pelts themselves meant nothing (even some dedicated hunters from Fortuna had their own furs to wear during the winter), the bones did. Only one territory in all the kingdoms sewed bones into their pelts: the Redgrave Horde.

Nero rose from his uninterested slouch and moved forward until he was on the edge of his seat. He’d never seen a member of the Horde before, but he’d heard plenty rumors. They rode on the backs of dragons and burned their enemies to ash, taking their enemies bones as trophies and wearing them. They were brutal, cold-blooded, and didn’t even deserve to be called a House. They were, and always would be, the Horde.

Tract looked over his shoulder and Nicaea, who looked just as confused. He turned back to the duo, a slight tremor in his voice. “And… who would be included?”

The figure on the left pulled down their hood, exposing woman with short, choppy black hair, and two, mismatched eyes. “King Tract, Queen Nicaea, Prince Nero, I have the honor of introducing my Lord, leader of the Red Grave Hoard, Khal Dante.”

The woman bowed as the other, Khal Dante, pulled his hood back, and Nero was… surprised. With all the horror stories that hung around Redgrave and their atrocities, Nero expected their leader to fit that. He expected face paint made of ash and blood, or a mask with a human skull. Hell, maybe there was an actual _dragon_ underneath it.

Instead, Khal Dante looked… normal. He was maybe only a few years younger than Tract—no age lines, but silver-gray hair and a slightly unkempt stubble—with a cocky smirk as he stared up at the platform and locked eyes with Nero. 

He turned back to his companion, speaking to her instead of to Tract. After a few seconds, the woman spoke again. “Khal Dante would like to request that he be involved in the competition for the prince’s hand in marriage.”

Tract reeled back like he’d been shot by the woman’s bow, and quickly turned to Nicaea. They both floundered for an answer, and Nero sat back to watch the shit fly. He knew saying anything would just lead to a fight, if he was acknowledged at all. _“Can_ he compete?”

“He absolutely can _not—”_ Nicaea started, but Credo cleared his throat and spoke up.

“We went over the invitations together, mother.” Credo said, earning him a scathing glare. “We specifically wrote that the competition was open to _any_ noble family members. Khal Dante, as the Redgrave Horde’s equivalent to royalty, qualifies.”

 _“Surely_ he doesn’t know that!”

“And if he does find out?” Credo looked at his mother like she’d grown a second head. “You would risk a war with the Horde over this?”

Nicaea looked like she just swallowed a turd, and Nero couldn’t be happier to see another wrench getting thrown into this whole thing. She _had_ to let the Dragon Lord participate now, because denying him would be clear exclusion, and an open invitation for an attack. The only way for them to not offend would be to cancel the marriage outright—

But then, Nicaea paused, her lips twitching as she restrained a smile. “Let him compete.”

_What?_

“…Very well.” Tract conceded, turning back to the crowd. “Khal Dante may participate, however, I must emphasize that killing is _not allowed._ This is a marriage trial, not a coliseum death match.”

Khal Dante laughed after the King’s words were translated, and said something to his guardswoman. She smiled, placed a hand on her hip, and said. “Khal Dante agrees to these terms. He would also like to emphasize that any permanent injuries he causes are accidental.”

Nero’s eyes flicked around the field, watching as more than half of the candidates were already backing away and heading back to the town. The remainder moved into the field, along with Khal Dante, who had unsheathed a _massive_ broadsword and was walking around with it resting on his shoulder like it was nothing.

As the fighting began, Nero leaned close to Kyrie, who was gripping the arms of her chair so hard Nero could see her making indentations in the wood. “Why didn’t she call it off?”

“Because, when Khal Dante wins, the Horde will have loyalty to our House.” Kyrie’s voice sounded far away, and she turned to look at him with wide, fearful eyes. “It’s the best thing she could have asked for.”

Nero felt the blood drain from his face, and he turned back to the fight below, watching as Dante systematically destroyed the few suitors that were brave enough to face him. The fight took less than ten minutes, with Khal Dante standing victorious, one foot on the last suitor’s chest. He smiled up at the King and Queen, making sure to lock eyes with Nero before he said something in Redgrave dialect and turned.

The woman smirked, said, “Khal Dante will return tomorrow morning to discuss the finer details of the marriage.” and turned to follow her lord.

* * *

“This is _bullshit!”_

“Language!” Nicaea had the _audacity_ to snap back at him, like she wasn’t signing his death certificate.

“You’re seriously going through with this?” Nero’s gaze flicked between Nicaea and Tract. “You’re seriously going to marry me off to the _Dragon Lord_ because he won this stupid competition?”

“Must I remind you that _you_ are the one who came up with this ‘stupid competition’ because you didn’t want a traditional courting arrangement?”

“I made it up!” Nero spluttered, because at this point he couldn't get into any deeper shit than he was currently in. “But even if it wasn't, if it were anyone else, _fine._ I’d be mad, but _fine._ But Dante…” Nero ignored Credo snidely correcting him from his father's side _("Khal_ Dante, Nero.") as he gestured vaguely at the air in front of him. “He’s twice my age!” 

“That’s hardly important, especially to _them.”_

“Yeah, but the part that _is_ important is that an old fuck like him—” Nicaea opened her mouth to admonish him again, but Nero ignored her and kept talking. “—needs an heir. I _physically_ cannot give him an heir!”

“This is not about giving him an heir, this is about ensuring that the Horde does not invade Fortuna and add it to its… _neglected_ territories.” Tract explained, his stern expression emphasizing the deep age lines on his face. “This is your duty as our youngest son, and as a loyal Fortunan.”

Nero laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re using me as a bartering chip and sending me off to _die._ You realize that, right?”

An uncomfortable silence settled in the throne room, and Nero shook his head, turning on his heel and calling over his shoulder, “I hope that, once I’m dead, they burn this entire kingdom to ash!”

Once there was a long stretch of hallway between him and the throne room, Nero ran, his eyes. He knew, when the house had taken him in, that he would be married. Fortunan tradition dictated that the youngest children were married off while the eldest inherited their parents’ territories, but Nero had anticipated being married to some rich snob, and he’d be too busy with even more responsibilities and not pissing off his in-laws to do anything he loved.

Instead, he was getting shipped off to a completely different country, to be made one of the Dragon Lord’s glorified trophies _at best,_ a concubine and slave at worst.

Nero ran for his room, slamming the door shut behind him, uncaring of how it would look or sound to everyone else. His room was barren, lacking any of the decorations Kyrie and Credo had adorned their room with, with only sparse furniture and thick blankets for the slowly cooling weather.

With a frustrated shout, Nero took one of the many throw pillows that the castle’s maids had placed on his bed and threw it at the wall. The light _thump_ it made was hardly satisfying, and Nero threw another, and another, until he reached for the head of his bed and found thin air.

Panting, Nero’s legs buckled, and he sat with his back to the mattress, trying his best not to cry. He vowed that he wasn’t just going to take this lying down. He’d find a way out, a loophole, _something,_ to keep from getting a ring shoved on his finger, or whatever Khals did for marriage. He’d try to get Credo and Kyrie out of harm’s way, but he was going to get his freedom back whether they liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> This is marked as incomplete bc I’ll probably (read: definitely) add more to it later outside of daneroweek because I LITERALLY spat this out in two days and if I keep going all the other things talked about in the server every other fic I have planned would have to take a seat on the backburner. Either way I hate literally all of you on the server (no i don’t i love u all and ur brains are incredible i am just v v weak)


	2. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the tournament completed and Khal Dante crowned winner, they now had to talk about what their marriage would consist of, much to Nero's mounting dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While not Valentine's Day themed, I wanted to get this out for some of the folks on the Danero server as a gift of sorts. This has, once again, been barely edited as I wanted to get this out today, but I hope it's still enjoyable!

Waking up, the day didn’t feel different than usual. Early morning sunlight peeked through the thin slots of the bedroom’s windows. Cold, early-spring wind breezed through his room and curled over Nero’s cheeks, but couldn’t pierce through his thick blankets. He whined, burying his face in his pillow as he smacked his lips, an uncomfortable dryness coating his tongue. His gut twisted with hunger, a low rumble leaving it as pangs of discomfort shot through his stomach.

Memories of the past evening rose in his mind, and he opened his eyes to glare at the wall. He’d refused to leave his room after yelling at the King and Queen, forgoing dinner to sulk in his room. Kyrie had visited him very briefly, speaking through the door as she tried to coax him out for dinner, but he quickly told her that he would be fine. He just needed some time alone.

In other words, he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast the prior day, and he’d only had some semi-decent mead during lunch, so he was hungry and annoyed and the morning sun was aggravating his budding headache.

With sleep-heavy limbs, Nero crawled out of bed, rubbing at his eyes as he absentmindedly tried to tame his bed head into something vaguely nice looking. He stumbled out of his room, the halls lit by dying torchlight and a few openings in the cold stone walls.

Nero wasn’t sure how early it was, but he knew that his parents usually had maids bring their breakfasts to their bedroom and eat them there, and Credo didn’t leave his room until it was nearly noon. Kyrie tended to eat in the main dining hall alongside the other servants in the castle, but she was probably the only member of the family Nero could stand to be near after the disaster that was yesterday.

So, he took to the halls, taking slow steps as he shook off sleep’s lingering grip. He hardly cared who saw him right now, more concerned with getting food to satisfy the yawning hunger tearing through his stomach.

Travelling down to the lower levels of the castle, Nero yawned, jaw opening wide as he stepped reached the final step, bumping into a thick, warm body. He stepped back, nearly tripping on the stone stairs, but a large hand reached out and steadied him before he could fall. Once Nero got his feet under him, he patted the hand in thanks and looked up. 

And promptly choked on his tongue when he saw Khal Dante looming over him. 

If the Khal was intimidating from a distance, he was terrifying up close. The hood of his bearskin cloak was drawn up over his head, a majority of his face cast in shadows. Despite this, Nero could see a smirk tugging his lips, and his piercing blue eyes roving over his body. With a blush burning high on his cheeks, Nero self-consciously crossed his arms in front of him and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Khal Dante chuckled and, though his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Nero could see why. His attempt of standing his ground was probably a pathetic sight, with him in his nightgown with a messy bedhead, sleep still in his eyes and clinging to his voice, giving it a raspy quality.

Of course, Khal Dante responded by speaking in Horde dialect. Nero shivered, the Khal’s deep voice feeling like familiar rumble of thunder this close. When he was done, Nero glanced around for the woman that accompanied him yesterday, but it was just them.

Nero shivered and stepped back, Khal Dante pulling his hands away to rest at his side. The Khal could, in theory, do anything to him, and there would be nothing he could do to stop him, and that was… terrifying. More than the unwanted marriage, in all honesty.

Before Nero’s thoughts could spiral any further, his stomach growled, this time a spike of pain hitting him. He dug his nails into the stonework as his head spun, and he tensed his jaw, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.

Khal Dante hummed, and Nero startled as something bright red was shoved underneath his face. He blinked a few times, his brain slow to realize that he was looking at an apple, unblemished, currently being offered to him. By the Khal.

With excessive caution, Nero took the apple, looking over it for any obvious signs that the Khal had done something to it. The stem was still in, the waxy skin untouched, and it looked… normal.

His stomach rumbled—more noise than pain, now—and he brought the apple close to his chest. At this point, food was food, and it wasn’t like he was going to be  _ stupid _ and deny the obvious offering the Khal had given him.

So, swallowing what little pride he had left, Nero looked up and said, “Thank you, Khal Dante.” before taking a bite. The sweet juices rolled over his tongue, but his hunger won over his desire to enjoy the taste, and the apple was gone in less than a minute, and Nero was genuinely contemplating devouring the core as well.

The Khal chuckled, and he reached up to ruffle Nero’s hair, making his bed head even worse. He said something again, a hint of fondness in his voice. Despite not knowing a single word of Horde dialect, Nero blushed at the affection all the same.

“There you are!” Nero jerked, pulling away from the Khal’s hand as he looked down the hall to see Nicaea approaching, the other member of the Horde at her side. Her smile was razor-sharp, anger barely concealed behind her bared teeth, and Nero knew he was fucked. “You scared me half to death! I asked a servant to head to your room, but you weren’t there. I nearly thought our…  _ friends  _ from Redgrave had come and taken you in the night.”

“Apologies, mother.” Nero hung his head, doing his best to keep polite. As much as he’d love to make a snide comment, he didn’t want to make a scene, or risk angering Nicaea further. “I was going to get breakfast. I was unaware that Khal Dante would be here.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. Queen Nicaea wasn’t aware we’d arrive so early.” Nero saw Nicaea’s mask of kindness crack at the Horde woman’s remark. The woman stepped forward, taking Nero’s hand in a strong grip as she shook it. “Prince Nero, it is a pleasure to meet you outside the competition’s stifling requirements. You may call me Lady.”

“Lady…?”

_ “Just _ Lady.” Lady smirked and winked at him before backing away. “I’m afraid that saying my  _ true _ name would unleash a terrible curse upon the land, and I’d  _ hate  _ make a bad impression.”

Nero wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth or just trying to fuck with him but, judging by Nicaea’s brief, panicked expression, his family had certainly bought into it.

With a light, nervous laugh, Nicaea brushed forward and stood in front of Nero, blocking him from Khal Dante and Lady. “Nero, you are to go upstairs to your room. One of my servants has delivered you your clothes for the day, and Credo will be there waiting to escort you once you are done. He will bring you to the dining hall, where we will discuss the terms of your marriage over breakfast.”

In other, less polite words: get going before I get any angrier, make yourself look presentable, and don’t even think you’re getting out of this.

Still, Nero bowed, knowing that doing anything else would further piss her off, and went back upstairs. He heard Nicaea sigh faux-fondly and say, “You needn’t worry, Khal Dante. He will make a worthy wife for you.”

If Nero ran up the stairs, well, no one would know but him.

* * *

“Credo, I am  _ not _ wearing this.”

When Nero had returned to his room, Credo was standing inside, holding various fabrics out to Nero. He nearly dropped them in disgust, the fabric so sheer it was nearly transparent. The only parts of the ensemble that  _ weren’t _ see-through as a band of cloth meant to wrap around his hips and upper thighs.

Even the most  _ scandalous  _ prostitutes on Fortuna wore more than this! They had hoods to hide their faces, showing off their bodies with maybe only one layer of tight fabric that clung to their bodies. They did not wear flimsy, sheer fabric that could be ripped off by a very big, very strong Khal.

“You have no choice. Mother specified these clothes and has instructed me to dress you if you refuse.” Credo said. He wasn’t harsh, simply… neutral. Which was arguably more infuriating than outright antagonism. “You walk around in your nightgown every morning until you go to your duties, this shouldn’t be difficult.”

“The nightgown is different!” Nero hissed, throwing the fabrics on his bed in a childish fit of anger.

When Nero had first began living in the castle, he was sure he’d given his adoptive parents a few heart attacks from only wearing a sheer nightgown to sleep. Usually, Fortunans wore several layers, even when they slept. But Nero only stuck with one, thin nightgown and just piled on as many blankets as he could horde.

In other words, it was just another aspect of Nero that was distinctly un-Fortunan that everyone else just… learned to deal with. Not that Nero didn’t care what others thought when they looked at him. Granted, everyone would always know he’d been a street kid first, nobility second, but… well, the less piercing looks he received, the better.

So, when out of the castle and doing his duties, he wore as many layers as his ‘mother’ and her servants would shove at him. But before? When he was half-asleep and really only likely to run into some random servants and his close family? He’d wear his nightgown and hold onto that temporary comfort for as long as possible.

“I thought mother wanted me to look ‘respectful.’ If I go to breakfast wearing  _ that, _ I’ll look like a by-the-bronze whore.”

“Your goal right now is to allure Khal Dante. Wearing the outfit mother has selected will entice him into more beneficial marriage terms for us. And, as mother has ordered me to, you will either go to breakfast in  _ that, _ ” Credo drew his sword, holding it at his side as he stared down Nero. “Or you will go in nothing at all.”

Nero grit his teeth, looking at the thin fabric, then at Credo. He and Credo were on arguably good terms, but he’d always be loyal to Nicaea and Tract first, and Nero last. If Nero did try to run, he  _ would  _ catch Nero and he absolutely cut the nightgown off of him in order to appease his mother.

“Can I at least have a shawl, or a coat? It’s cold out, Credo, and I doubt mother would want me to get sick.” Credo glared and pointed at the clothes with his sword, and Nero sighed, knowing that he had lost this battle.

* * *

There were a lot of terrible moments in Nero’s life. There was that time he woke up after a tough winter, only to find that some of the street kids had passed away in the night, frozen and stiff as stone. There was the day he contemplated selling himself to one of the seedier districts in town in the hopes of making some money. Not to mention that time he got so sick he could barely move, shivering like a leaf as he puked every few hours, certain he was going to die.

Those were bad, and would continue to  _ be _ bad, but nothing, absolutely  _ nothing, _ could top this.

Walking through the freezing halls with Credo at his back, Nero tried to keep his head held high as they passed servants and visitors alike, curious and mocking whispers echoing like cannonfire around him. The thicker band of cloth hiding his genitals made it impossible to run, or even walk hurriedly, so it was a slow, painful mortification that sank deep into his bones.

Nicaea would be talking about this for  _ months _ afterward, of course. It was like a big ‘fuck you,’ most likely in response to him skipping dinner and opposing the marriage with the Khal after the tournament. He could already hear her mocking tone, “Oh, Nero practically threw himself into the Khal’s lap with such a provocative outfit. It was easy to ship him off. After all, once a street kid, always a street kid. His mother was likely a whore, so it makes sense he’d follow in her footsteps.”

Of course, she wouldn’t mention how  _ she _ was the one who chose his outfit, or that he hated every step he took in it. How it felt like his nipples were going to fall off from how cold it was. How he couldn’t move any faster, unless he wanted to rip the only thing protecting his decency to shreds.

He wondered, for a brief moment, if he could somehow figure out a way to convince Khal Dante to raze the castle after their marriage. Then he realized Nicaea wouldn’t be that stupid, and she’d make sure her own ass was safe first thing during the discussion.

Walking into the dining hall, it was like a beheading just happened with how silent it was. The long table was covered with plates of freshly-prepared meats and diced vegetables, piled high and already cut into by the four sitting at the table. Nicaea and Tract, of course, were sitting at the head of the table, side by side. The Horde members were sitting to their right, both of them staring openly at him and Credo, and he felt his skin crawl under Khal Dante’s predatory gaze.

It took every iota of courage Nero had not to squirm under their stares as he made his way to his seat. He was seated between Nicaea and Credo, likely to make sure he couldn’t run. Or maybe, if he said something that was offensive, they could kick him under the table as a quick punishment.

He waited a few seconds after sitting before reaching out for some slices of meat. He doubted he’d be able to eat a lot while feeling this exposed, but he needed to eat more than an apple. Besides, he was sure that, if his stomach growled while they were in the middle of negotiating his future, Nicaea might hurl him out the window.

Tract cleared his throat and sat up straight, folding his hands in front of him. “Now that we are all gathered, we may discuss—”

Khal Dante rose from his chair, immediately commanding the attention of the room. He rounded the table, his steps heavy in the oppressive silence, until he stood next to Nero’s chair. 

As he stood there, Nero tried to remember one of the various prayers he had to listen to during sermons, but he was drawing a blank. He sat there, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at the Khal because the moment he did, he would actually lose it. He was certain that Dante was going to grab him by his neck, examine him, maybe rip the stupid clothes off his back.

Instead, the Khal grunted, and there was a faint metallic clicking before his thick, bear-skin cloak was draped over his shoulders. Nero bit the inside of his lip to keep from making any noise, but he carefully pulled the cloak closer, taking solace in the warmth it provided him.

Khal Dante let out a pleased hum before rounding the table again, showing off the dragon-scale covered armor that was hidden underneath the cloak. Lady’s lips were visibly twitching as she said something in Horde to the Khal with a teasing tone, the two exchanging banter as he sat down. 

Nicaea’s eyes glittered with… something. Maybe, for once, she was happy. At what, Nero couldn’t tell—he was just happy that he wasn’t freezing to death.

Tract cleared his throat. “As I was about to say, we may now discuss the terms of the union between Prince Nero and Khal Dante.”

Nero pressed his lips together, quickly shoving some food into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything stupid. He knew how marriage negotiations worked on Fortuna and, frankly, it was moronic to call it a ‘negotiation’ in the first place. It was essentially a bartering—one party offered what they had, the other party did the same, and they met in the middle. Usually, between noble families, it just meant that they merged their wealth while making clear lines on whose territory was whose.

However, since his marriage had essentially turned into a complicated peace deal, there was an extra layer to it. Talking about peace deals and how he wasn’t to be harmed and how, every other year, they had to travel and bring Nero back as proof, and if he didn’t appear it was cause for war (which was a total fucking bluff, because House Sanctus didn’t have a good standing military, but Redgrave didn’t need to know that).

Either way, Nero was essentially being used as a bartering chip, in a position that made him less than human. If he spoke up, Nicaea would certainly glare at him, and Credo might be bold enough to reprimand him in front of their guests. He’d likely be denied food for the rest of the day, or worse—having what other few comforts he had taken away for the rest of the negotiations.

So, Nero kept quiet and ate as much food as he could, doing his best to ignore how Khal Dante’s gaze would flick over to him during the brief pauses when Lady figured out how to translate Nicaea’s demands.

Eventually, morning bled into the afternoon, and the topic of the language barrier came up. “Unfortunately, Horde dialect is not one of the languages we teach in our curriculum, so Prince Nero does not understand you. Would you be willing to offer a translator, such as yourself, Lady?”

Lady and Khal Dante talked for a few minutes before turning back to the table. “While it would be an honor to serve your Prince, I am bound to Khal Dante, and cannot leave his side.” Nero shuddered at the implication behind that. “However, we do have another member of our kingdom who is fluent in Fortunan. Tell me, have you heard of a Nicoletta Goldstein?”

Nero perked up. While the first name didn’t ring any bells, the last did. The Goldsteins were a weaponsmith family, famous for their amazing metal work that could last for decades with the proper care. Some noble families praised them for giving rise to Fortuna’s rise to prosperity.

Then, they gave birth to Alyssa, who got married in the traditional Fortunan manner that Nero attempted to dodge, and was forcibly married to Agnus Goldstein. Formerly Agnus Ricci, he didn’t follow in the Goldstein’s legacy and turned to alchemy instead, trying to find the secret for eternal life. 

There were plenty of unsavory rumors surrounding the man, like the lab he had built was really a torture chamber for the homeless drunkards, where he’d make them suffer through experiment after experiment for his research. The reason why his wife didn’t protest and readily gave him funds was because he threatened to use her family in his experiments as well, or that he’d found a serum or magic spell that would make her obey his every command.

Regardless of the rumors, Agnus pushed on, and claimed that he was making progress. He made enough of a rabble that Sanctus, former king, founder of the House Sanctus, and Nero’s adoptive grandfather, took interest. He asked to visit Agnus’ lab to see the fruits of his labor.

The night King Sanctus visited was the night Agnus’ lab (and the rest of the Goldstein’s estate, as the lab was connected to it) blew up. Nero didn’t have any memory of it, given that he was probably only a few months old when it happened, but those that saw it said the fire burned for days. When it finally died, no one couldn’t find any remains on site, but that wasn’t a surprise, as the house was reduced to ash and a good amount of the surrounding properties were damaged in some way. Nero remembered going to the empty stretch of land on a dare when he was younger, and some of the patches of grass were still singed.

In shorter words, everyone on Fortuna believed that the Goldstein family had been wiped out in the blaze, and House Sanctus still winced when anyone  _ whispered _ the name Goldstein, and had a knee-jerk reaction when hearing Agnus’. 

So, of course, Nero was going to say it. “Agnus had a daughter?”

Just as predicted, Nicaea flinched, her fingers gripping the tablecloth. “There were… rumors that Alyssa was pregnant shortly before the fire occurred. Of course, they were just rumors, and we had all assumed that she had passed.”

“We found Nico when she was a teenager, and she makes us weapons in exchange for a safe place to stay.” Lady says. “She knows multiple languages, but is most fluent with Fortunan and is familiar with slang terms that I do not understand. She would also know how to teach our dialect to your Prince better than I.”

Nicaea and Tract leaned close to each other, conversing in barely-heard whispers before turning back. “That will be acceptable.”

The meeting dragged on, and on, and  _ on, _ until supper was brought out to them. Eventually, they settled on a date—a week out from today—and Khal Dante and his mistress insisted on leaving before it grew any darker. 

As they rose from their seats to leave, Nero unfastened the cloak Khal Dante had given him and handed it back. He almost didn’t want to—the fur was thick and warm, and having to spend another minute wearing this thin fabric without any protection might just kill him—but he couldn’t keep it. “Thank you.”

Khal Dante smiled at him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying, “You are… thank?”

“Welcome, Khal Dante.” Lady patted his arm.  _ “Wel-come.” _

“Ah.” Dante threw the cloak over his shoulders, the bones clicking together like seashells. “You are  _ wel-come.” _

Nero nodded and watched as they left, letting out a sigh as he tugged at the sleeve of his sheer outfit. He was relieved the talks were over for now, though they’d likely come back tomorrow to go over what they’d settled on and continue negotiations.

“Well!” Nicaea stood from the table, patting Nero on the shoulder. “That was a wonderful performance that could not have worked better. Good work.”

Nero tilted his head, turning to face her. “What?”

“Khal Dante was so clearly enamored with your body, enough to give you his cloak as a gift.” Nicaea grinned. “When they come tomorrow, perhaps we’ll add some jewelry as well. A necklace, perhaps? Something that would complement your eyes and make them pop…”

As Nicaea kept talking, Nero felt like he’d been thrown into a freezing lake, a faint ringing in his ears. The cloak… was a marriage thing? Part of his ‘seduction’ of the Khal? He—he didn’t—

Nero pulled away, managing to compose himself enough to ask, in a steady voice, “May I retire for the evening, mother? I’m terribly tired after the negotiations, and I’d wish to be rested enough for tomorrow’s events as well.”

Nicaea stopped mid-sentence, but gave Nero a kind smile. “Of course, Nero. Credo, would you accompany him? I’ll send a servant up with a clean nightgown shortly, and they’ll take your outfit to clean for tomorrow.”

So, Nero couldn’t tear the damn thing to shreds. Fine, he could do that.

But he wouldn’t play Nicaea’s game anymore. At the very least, he wouldn’t be a malleable pawn for her to use as she saw fit.

* * *

The next day came and started much the same. Credo and a servant came in, gave him the same outfit he’d worn, and the same ultimatum. Nero put it on with little to no protest, arriving in the dining hall before the Khal did, sitting patiently with his parents and Credo as breakfast was brought in. He sat up straight, said nothing, and simply waited.

When the sun had risen to be about mid-morning, Khal Dante and Lady arrived, looking at the food laid out for them before they looked at the people. With another hum, the Khal made his way to Nero, unbuckling his cloak as he went.

Just before he could drape it over Nero’s shoulders, Nero put his plan into action. He pulled away and looked up at Dante with all the courage he could muster. “No.”

His eyes widened and he froze, the cloak held out awkwardly. A heavy silence descended over the dining room, and Nero could feel Nicaea’s furious glare burning the back of his head. Nero took a calming breath, and said, “Thank you, Khal Dante, but no. I don’t need your cloak.”

_ “Nero.” _ Nicaea furiously hissed, but it was too late. Lady had translated what he said, and the Khal was already pulling away, reluctantly latching his cloak back on as he made his way to his seat next to Lady.

Nero let out a shuddering breath and let a bit of the tension seep out of his shoulders. When he turned back to the table, he could see Nicaea trembling with fury to his right, but he could deal with that. She couldn’t do anything now, but later, he’d certainly be punished.

But it was well worth it. Anything to feel more like a person, and less like a piece of meat being passed around for judgement. His fate was already sealed, forever to be a concubine for Khal Dante. The least he could accomplish now was his own autonomy in the face of a future of being nothing more than an object.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently Nico's mom's name is Alyssa? I learned this halfway through writing so the original name I was gonna give her may or may not show up so if you see 'Vivian' in there that's why.


	3. Charms and Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations are done, and Nero has two weeks of limbo before his life changes. There's nothing he can do to prevent it, but maybe... maybe he can make it slightly more bearable.

The wedding plans pushed on, despite Nero doing his best to try and be a privileged nuisance (Credo’s words, not his own). He didn’t directly contribute to any of it, instead maintaining a mask of indifference, trying to shut out the world around him and rebuke as much of the Khal’s advances as possible.

Unfortunately, that was getting harder to do each and every day. The Khal’s grasp on Fortunan grew stronger (though he still relied on Lady for anything more complex), but even with the language barrier and his flamboyant attitude, he was incredibly perceptive. He didn’t offer Nero his cloak anymore, but whenever he shot down one of Nicaea’s proposals for the wedding, he always smirked and winked at Nero, who struggled to suppress a smile as the Queen attempted to compromise with Lady acting as the middleman.

Still, politics were politics, and the Queen plowed forward. Territory agreements, trade deals, and plenty more things that Nero tuned out were all negotiated and, before Nero knew it, Queen Nicaea was happily shaking hands with the Khal as they agreed on the date.

In two weeks, Nero would be the ‘happily married prince’ to the Khal. No amount of playful smirks or dissociative sitting as he felt his toes go numb from the cold could prevent it now.

And at this point, Nero began to panic. The fog that had blanketed his mind disappeared, and he sat on his bed sobbing his eyes out. In two weeks, Nero was going to be forcibly married to a man more than twice his age. Said man was quite possibly one of the most powerful men in existence, his clan well-known for commanding dragons like they were pets and razing cities to ash. Once he was married, he was to remain at Dante’s side, returning to Fortuna twice a year, possibly more if there were any events he’d have to oversee as a member of the royal family.

To put it simply, if Khal Dante’s first action was to kill him once they were away from Fortuna, no one would know for at _least_ six months, and Kyrie would be the only one who cared. If he _wasn’t_ killed (and frankly, he didn’t even want to _think_ about what living under the Khal would be like), he’d be lucky to see anyone outside his family more than twice a year. 

Throughout all the meetings, Khal Dante had yet to disclose what he would like Nero to do, instead choosing to nod and go along with whatever Nicaea mentioned, which… did not bode well. At best, Nero would be a glorified maid, caring for Dante at his beck and call. Perhaps, if the Khal felt generous (or if Nero was very, _very_ lucky), he might pass some of the Horde’s domestic issues to Nero, and _some_ power was better than _none._

However, the worst (and, unfortunately, most likely) scenario was that Nero would be a glorified consort, satisfying the Khal’s more… _bestial_ urges. He couldn’t provide the Khal an heir, but he was certain the old man would appreciate having a concubine he could fuck whenever he pleased without fear of repercussions. Perhaps he’d be confined to one room, shackled and chained to the wall, kept fed and pretty for family visits, but not allowed outside for anything more.

No matter what, Nero couldn’t see his future having any agency. Fuck, for all he knew, he was going to _die,_ because the Horde weren’t exactly well known for being _kind_ to foreigners.

A near-hysterical laugh left him as he pulled his hair, on the verge of hyperventilating. Getting married off to some snobbish royal family didn’t seem so bad compared to _this._

The next day passed by in a daze. Nero was too overwhelmed and emotionally drained to fully contribute to… well, anything. Credo dragged him to the tailor to have his measurements taken for a wedding uniform while Kyrie tried to make him feel better. He ate his meals in silence, smiling politely when Nicaea and Tract engaged with him, despite the bile burning his throat and his stomach twisting itself into knots.

As the moon began to rise, Nero was returned to his chambers, the door locked behind him. He glanced around his room, noting that a majority of his blankets and curtains had been removed in his absence, and his windows hastily boarded up, only letting in the smallest amount of light. 

Nero grimaced, offended that Nicaea believed he would truly be _that_ desperate. He made his way around, cataloguing just how many belongings were confiscated. 

Most of his thick, warm clothing had been removed, likely for the same reason the other long fabrics had. That left him with his current outfit—the thin, sheer fabric that made him look more like a whore than a prince—and some thinner clothes that would do nothing to protect him from the early spring chill. It would be a miracle if he didn’t get sick or, worse, freeze to death in his sleep.

The few sentimental knick knacks and books he’d collected over the years were left untouched, and he quickly set to work hiding them, just in case. He didn’t doubt that Nicaea would remove any traces of his existence once he left, and these were items he’d kept since he was a child. Most of his books were filled with stories he was told from the streets, hidden between pages of math and calligraphy practice.

Flipping through them to see which he could afford to leave out to satisfy Nicaea, Nero paused to skim over one of the stories, smiling as he found the story about the Rabbit Thief. It was a street kid story, one of his favorites from the older vagabonds, but Nero had written it down to make sure he’d never forget it.

The story told the tale of a poor little rabbit that grew to be a master thief, stealing from the rich and giving their wealth to the poor. The Rabbit Thief could escape any trap with ease and always outwitted the guards, but time eventually caught up to him. On his deathbed, he told four of his closest friends to take his feet when he died, and keep them as charms, for his spirit would bless them with incredible luck. 

The four friends did so, and carried on the Rabbit Thief’s legacy, passing the tradition onto their apprentices. The story ended with the legend that having a rabbit’s foot would give you endless good fortune and luck, but Nero remembered that it just led to a bunch of snot-nosed kids failing to catch a rabbit.

Nero’s fingers traced over the slightly faded ink, a nostalgic smile crossing his face before he looked out the window. The moon, half full, had risen above the treeline and was shining down in his room, adding an ethereal glow to his room.

Twelve days. Twelve days of freedom left before he was forever bound to the Khal. Twelve days before his future was set in stone, and his freedom gone.

And he’d need all the luck he could get to survive what was coming.

* * *

The Khal had requested a wedding in the open air, with only him, his translator, the priest, and the noble blood of House Sanctus in attendance. Not wanting to anger the man, Nicaea agreed, and the venue was being built just outside of the city. Supplies from the contractors had been left around the courtyards, and Nero had examined them during his small strolls, supervised by Credo or one of the guards.

But, despite his every move being heavily scrutinized, Nero had lived on the streets and survived by stealing, and his time as prince hadn’t turned him soft. It had taken a few days of work, but Nero eventually accumulated and stored enough nails and found a rusted hammer to make some lock-picks. 

To keep suspicion to a minimum, Nero did his best to act as normal as possible. Normal, for now, was acting disconnected and completely complacent and obedient, occasionally reassuring Kyrie that yes, he was fine. While it wouldn’t be the first time he snuck out, but it would certainly be the first time he’d done so under such scrutiny, and he’d only have one night to do this while he still had his freedom. 

So, no pressure then.

Long after the moon had risen into the sky and the castle had fallen into its usual tense silence, Nero slid out of his bed. He donned a pair of thick, pelted boots and a cloak to cover his head—the best he could sneak into his room on short notice without alerting anyone—and tried to pull his pajamas closer to his body. He moved a rock out of its place in the wall and grabbed a few hammer-bent nails before getting to work on his door. After a bit of jiggling, there was a loud click, and Nero gently eased his way into the hall. 

He kept his footsteps light as he travelled down the hall, peeking around corners with his hood drawn before continuing to the staircase. He’d memorized the palace guard’s patrols, but Nicaea and Credo may have changed the pattern recently, especially since the Khal had visited so many times and Nero had a _slight_ reputation. His heart raced as he slunk through the halls, plastered around corners and stepping down the spiralling staircase lighter than air. 

There was a close call where Nero nearly ran into a guard patrolling with a torch, but he managed to duck behind a corner before he was seen. After that, he snuck into the main yard, making his way to the stables.

Taking a horse was too risky, but he knew that _some_ of the saddles—typically the saddles used by the captains and generals—had weapons stored in them, just in case there was a need for them to get out _fast._ Nero planned on making it back to the castle before dawn could come, so as long as he could remember what he took from where, he should be fine.

Flicking through the loaded saddles, Nero grinned as he found a simple hunting knife, which was _perfect._ While none of the saddles were paired with a traditional bow, he did manage to find a crossbow and a small quiver. He’d never used a crossbow before in his life, but it couldn’t be _too_ hard, right?

Tools in hand and the moon crawling across the sky, Nero patted one of the awake horses on its snout as he left the stables. He kept close to the wall before reaching the pair of guards at the entrance. He fired one of his crossbow bolts to draw their attention away before darting past, moving as fast as he could while remaining silent as he headed towards the woods. He held his breath until he could no longer hear the guards’ idle chatter, and he didn’t stop until he made it past the first treeline.

The forests of Fortuna were dense, with trees towering into the sky with leaves slowly growing as spring began in earnest. Life was slowly returning as the weather became warmer with each passing day, as evidenced by the sprouting underbrush and faint hoots of owls, all of this mixing with the shadows criss-crossing across the ground in the faint, blue moonlight. 

It felt like Nero had stepped into another world; one where he could do what he pleased, no expectations placed on him, with his only worry being how he would survive the next day. It was similar to living on the street, but also so, so different. Here he had freedom and solitude. Fortuna was crowded, choked with corruption and dense crowds of people, and Nero couldn’t imagine how the Horde would be any different.

He could run, he realised rather belatedly. Fortuna did have a somewhat consolidated level of control, but if he moved north, he might be able to find another, smaller village to hide, make a new plan, potentially escape and find a way to live out his life as a hermit, or a knight, or a hunter.

But if he did run, Nicaea would hunt him down and execute him as an example, and marry Kyrie to the Khal instead. He couldn’t do that to her—not now, not ever—so.

So he moved forward, steps silent, as he tried to find a rabbit.

He kept low to the ground, reloading his crossbow bolt and holding it at his side, ready to fire. He didn’t have much experience with hunting, aside from a few trips with King Tract and Credo. “To build character,” the King had said. Really, it was probably just a way to test if Nero would come back when given some freedom, or to see if Credo was bloodthirsty enough to kill him, or could control himself enough to make sure there was another pawn ahead of Kyrie for securing power for House Sanctus.

Loving family, the royals were. Credo and Nicaea especially. If it weren’t for his looming demise and the fact that Kyrie was still a saint despite everything, he might have almost been glad to leave them.

A snap of a twig behind him snapped Nero out of his musing, and Nero froze. The downside of having such a bountiful forest for hunting was that there were natural predators as well, such as wolves, not to mention various ‘demons’—creatures that seemed to target humans and humans alone. This close to Fortuna, the odds of encountering any of them seemed trivial, especially since every hunting trip he’d had before had only been successes.

But he hadn’t been hunting at night, then. And there was also some level of confidence that he could rely on Credo and Tract, or perhaps find the guards and huntsmen that had accompanied them. Most of the guard would be asleep, and those that were awake would simply leave him. If he made it back alive after sending the entire castle alight, Nicaea would absolutely keep him locked in his room, or perhaps the dungeons if she was feeling petty.

Shit. _shit._ He hadn’t considered any of this with his stupid plan. Son of a _bitch._ Nero felt sweat drip down the back of his neck, his finger twitching over the crossbow’s trigger. Ignoring it wouldn’t work, because it would jump him when it was done playing games. Running would lead to much of the same, except Nero would get closer to the castle and give the guards a front row seat to see him be torn to pieces.

Which meant he only had one option left: firing wildly behind him and then running in a dead sprint. If he did manage to hit it, then he’d be home free (within reason). If he didn’t, it should distract it enough to get a headstart, and that _might_ give him enough of an edge to get away.

Nero took a steadying breath and adjusted his grip on his crossbow. One shot. That was all he had. Then he had to madly dash in the direction of the castle and _pray_ it wasn’t a demon.

His panicked senses on high alert allowed Nero to hear another heavy step, the grass behind him rustling slightly.

One shot.

Exhaling sharply, Nero spun around, crossbow held out straight. He didn’t wait to stop moving before firing, hoping that the sudden attack would be enough—

And then, right after he pulled the trigger and the heavy _thwack!_ of the crossbow rang through the woods, his brain registered that the thing following him—the thing he’d just shot at—was _Khal Dante._

Nero didn’t even have the time to curse as the bolt flew from the crossbow, certain he was about to watch Khal Dante’s slow, painful death as he tried to breath around a metal rod.

Instead, almost faster than Nero could track, Khal Dante’s hand shot up and grabbed the bolt, stopping it just before it could graze his chest. They stared at each other, like startled deer, the silence between them growing thicker by the second.

“Shit.” The Khal swore.

“Fuck.” Nero swore back, his shaking hands nearly dropping his crossbow. Turns out, he didn’t have to wait until after the vows to learn how the Khal was going to kill him. He was going to learn _now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story about the Rabbit Thief is absolutely something I made up, but I did take some inspiration from Robin Hood and the old superstition that rabbit/hare feet are signs of good luck! This isn’t something from the Discord chat, so if any peeps are confused as to where it came from, it’s my own dumb brain making things up as I go along.
> 
> EDIT: Due to many reasons, both personal and otherwise, I no longer feel comfortable continuing this fic. I know people enjoyed it, and I'll leave it up for those few that did, but please know that I may want to delete it in the future. Please don't leave any comments asking for me to continue this, I really won't.


End file.
